


Riverbed

by Fleshwerks



Series: Tantalus in Phlegethon [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 22:10:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9348617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fleshwerks/pseuds/Fleshwerks
Summary: Zevran has a scum-sucking motherf*cking insufferable summer cold. Partly because of Warden Surana's reckless spell-casting. Lea Surana gets some truths laid on him. Again.





	

Lea had only had two hours of solid sleep between another few of existing between the waking world and the dreams, having tuckered out in his small canvas tent to the sound of rain.  
  
Crawling out of the tent, it was still raining from the dim skies, but what was a downpour before had become a light, warm rain. Sun had yet to come up, though its light bled enough from the horizon to illuminate the grey skies.   
  
Wet twigs and dead grass stuck to his palms and knees when he crawled out of the tent, but he was too groggy still to care about brushing the dirt away when he got onto his bare feet, and not even the rain on his face could beat the lingering sleep out of him. This is why he seldom bothered with sleep. It was easier to keep on going. A short sleep and the lethargy afterwards were both such a waste of time, but a full night’s sleep had always been elusive to him, and in these dark days it had seemed to abandon him completely.   
  
The campfire burned low with a sooty pot sitting on top of the coals, and at the entrance of the large pavilion tent sat Zevran, eyes half-open, gleaming with the reflection from the coals, hair undone and damp.  
  
 _It’s supposed to be Alistair’s turn to do the morning chores, no?_ Lea said to him, voice hoarse and breaking from sleep.  
  
 _Mm. That one sleeps like the dead. I’d wake the whole camp trying to wake him up,_ Zevran replied and rose to his feet to remove the pot of water that had come to a boil from the fire.   
  
_A kick in the ribs ought to do the trick,_ Leandaros said, rubbing his eyes.  
  
 _It’s like kicking a puppy,_ Zevran laughed, sounding even more congested than the day before. _I took some from your herb pouch,_ he continued as he tossed a handful of dried herbs into the pot and stirred the mixture with a wooden ladle, filling the air with the sharp aroma of embrium.   
  
_Ooh,_ Lea exclaimed and sniffled. _A bit too much, isn’t it?  
  
I… _Zevran started, eyes bleary, watering, _can’t smell anything. Says something about my misery considering how our sense of smell is supposed to be superb._ The vapours from the potent brew brought tears to Lea’s eyes. _I blame you for this, by the way,_ Zevran added.   
  
_Well maybe you shouldn’t have lost the talisman then,_ Lea laughed. This was the price of his magic. It was easy to bring assailants to their knees with a curse that would strip their bodies of their natural defenses and allow themselves and the world around them to finish the job. It was less useful when one of his own got caught in the spell. Especially when said one was pampered by the warm climate of Antiva, whose nose hadn’t stopped running ever since he set his foot on the shores of the cool and humid Ferelden.  
  
Zevran will be fine, he knew. Everyone who’d spent considerable time around Lea found their health weakening, but their bodies grew used to it in time. He’d joked to others that come time when they all leave his side, they’re doing so as the most hale and hearty individuals in all Thedas.   
  
_Well, the army won’t catch up for for a day at least,_ Lea said. _Find me something small, I’ll make you a new one. Something made of metal. Faster that way,_ Lea said. Regardless of the imminent healing of the crow, Lea felt rotten: the ambient magic around him would continue siphoning life force in his own favour regardless of whether he wanted it or not., and though its effects were negligible in such a short time span, Zevran really knew how to make a tragedy out of his summer cold.  
  
 _I’ll find something later,_ Zevran replied and finished stirring. He pulled his shirt sleeves over his hands and returned to Lea’s side with the steaming pot in his hands.  
  
  
Lea had been making such talismans for a month now to be distributed to those who he’d expected to fight close to him. They weren’t difficult to make, for they were only supposed to last a day or two, and did not require an enchanter to prepare the material. With Zevran and others who travelled at his side it was different. Those needed time and skill, for they were to repel his spells for years at a time before they needed charging again. They needed to be engineered so that the energy bleed would be minimal. The intricate nature of creating a token meant not hours, but days spent on crafting, and even then the trinket he could make before they reached Denerim and the Landsmeet would only last a month. The one Zevran had lost in the heat of a skirmish had taken him a month of work on his spare time as well as help from Sandal, and it would’ve lasted a decade before it needed charging again.   
  
_I don’t suppose you want this,_ he motioned at the pot. Lea shook his head. _  
  
Not going to bother with cups then,_ Zevran said and scooped up some of the aromatic liquid with the ladle. For a while they shared the silence as Zevran blew on the liquid and drank straight from the ladle, gasping when it burned his mouth.  
  
 _I can’t even taste this,_ he complained. _Though I suppose in this case I should consider it a mercy._ Embrium worked miracles for those with congested airways, but the taste of it was notoriously bitter. With a groan Zevran put the ladle back in the pot and turned to crawl deeper into the pavilion where bedrolls had been laid down for comfortable sitting. He lied down on his back, breathing through his mouth. _This is how I die,_ he remarked, and closed his eyes.   
  
_Crybaby,_ Lea scoffed. Though it surprised him how quickly and severely Zevran took to a cold that a Fereldan child could’ve laughed off. He laid down next to the crow and stared at the canvas ceiling, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain, the hissing of the dying coals. Slowly but steadily it got lighter outside.

  
 _Yes, I am,_ the congested crow replied. _Please comfort me gently.  
  
_ Lea smiled and rolled to his side, burying his face in Zevran’s shoulder, but the elf pulled him on top of him and wrapped his arms around him.   
  
_I’ve got a silver spoon in my satchel,_ Zevran said. _Several, actually. Will that do for the amulet?_ Zevran sniffled and suppressed a cough. _  
  
_Lea closed his eyes, gathered his hands and leaned his chin on them.  
  
 _It might,_ Lea said, and rolled off the crow to grab Zevran’s satchel and rummage around it. Sure enough, there was indeed a silver spoon in it. Twelve of them. Lea pulled a grimace and slowly turned around on his knees to cast a glare on the thieving crow.   
  
_Why?_ He asked, exasperated.  
  
 _Ngh,_ Zevran  replied and waved Lea’s inquiry away with a lazy gesture.   
  
_This surely will leave a very nice impression of me to the people whose goodwill we depend on,_ Lea complained. _The Grey Warden and his band of brigands and thieves.  
  
Feh, _Zevran said and folded his arm under his head for comfort, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. _We cleared our illustrious host’s roads of bandits. Did you---_ he sniffled and coughed, _did you ever bother to count the gold he gave you?  
  
_ Lea frowned at him, but remained silent.  
  
 _No? Of course you---_ Zevran sniffled again, _of course you didn’t. But don’t worry,_ the crow said cheerily and opened one eye to cast a knowing glance at Lea Surana. _Those spoons should cover what we’re owed.  
  
_ Lea looked at the satchel again, silver glinting in the blooming, though dull and rainy early morning light.   
  
_You’re not fucking with me here?_ He said. He felt the bite of shame. It was so strange how he could see some deceptions coming from miles away, but a con with coin seemed to always evade his scrutiny.  
  
 _Nope,_ Zevran said and closed his eyes again. _Sadly.  
  
_ Lea shook his head and returned his attention to the silver bounty, until Zevran’s miserable groan made him crawl back to the crow’s fur-lined side.   
_This is your fault,_ Zevran grumbled again, pouting jokingly, but Lea’s soft smile waned, and he contemplated the elf.  
  
 _Don’t say that,_ he finally said, and something about his tone made Zevran open his eyes and turn to him.    
  
 _Many mages have ambient magic. That mage who fell out of the carriage, what sort of mage was she?_ Lea asked. His tone was even, but he could feel his insides tightening the way they always did when he got upset. It started out small, like anyone’s anguish does over small things and accidental words, but he knew that unlike others, he was never good at brushing hurt and insults aside.  
  
The crow pushed himself onto his elbows, bracing for the shift in the Warden’s demeanor and everything it entailed.  
  
 _She lit the lanterns inside the carriage with the wave of her hand,_ Zevran said.  
  
 _Ah,_ Lea said. _Was she warm?_ He gathered his feet under him and sat alert, looking at the elf with an intense gaze.  
  
…. _Very?_ Zevran replied carefully, dragging out the word as he jogged his memory. The woman had indeed been hot to the touch, more so than any other warm body.   
  
_See. There was a girl, about my age, back in Kinloch. Beautiful work with storm magic. Every time she laughed genuinely and loudly, the hair of people around her would stand on its end. And she laughed a lot, so she and her friends looked like walking dandelion puff balls, and even when calm, one could feel her magic skitter on their skin. Her way of amusing herself was shocking others by a touch. It never hurt - it was just loud and made you jump._ The Warden put his hands down in his lap, massaging each finger to keep focus and avoid launching into incoherent rambling. _You saw her in Kinloch, one of the abominations.  
  
_ Lea paused for a bit, digging for memories of others like the girl.  
  
 _There was a girl around whom one was always chilly. Her and her group of friends had a nickname: coats. Because even though the tower was never warm, they would all dress up even more to spend time with their friend, and in the end, no one really cared.  
  
Spirit mages all stink like the Fade. It churns around them like the sea, and talking to them was always weird, because it felt like you never knew who was listening besides the mage themselves.  
  
And then, _he raised his voice and put force behind it. _Then there were mages like me. I was not the only entropist, no, but I was one of the four during my time there who had the ambience._ Lea frowned. _There was a mage, just on the cusp of adulthood when I was maybe nine. Caught from someplace, just recently brought to the Circle. Everyone fell ill around him in a matter of hours, and a day close to him meant death to the less hale. They couldn’t stamp the Tranquillity permit quickly enough for him.  
I was fourteen when they brought in a kid a few years younger than me. I and her had to wear amulets that would curb our ambient magic. For the good of others. We could take them off in classes to exercise our magic, but I spent my days in the quiet of the Third Library, and they assigned her to me as a helper soon after. We couldn’t hurt each other, and with us out of the way, no one else was hurt.  
These amulets just singled us out among our own, though. The looks you get from people knowing that the moment the amulet’s gone, you will cause them harm. And then the ridicule: muzzled like dogs. Looked at like we were mages so pathetic we couldn’t control ourselves. The constant magical incontinence. But no, _Lea bared his teeth now. Though the gesture meant nothing in a world where human body language and culture dominated, something primal in him caused him to peel back his lips in a display of unconscious threat.   
  
_No. It is fun when the storm girl does it. It is cozy around the fire woman. It is awe-inspiring for a spirit mage to be kissed by the very essence of magic and dreams. But us? We’re rats, carrying the plague with the added insult of becoming stronger on the expense of others’ ailing. There were more entropics like us, but not all of them had the ambience. And yet, even they got their share of the prejudice, unless they were really, really likeable, or really threatening.  
  
_ Silence fell between them, only filled by the never-ending light rain. The cloudy morning was in full bloom now, and Lea suddenly realised that everyone must’ve been awake now in their tents, listening but unmoving, pretending to be still asleep.  
  
Zevran looked at him calmly, saying nothing, head resting on his propped up hand. Lea’s face contorted and a choice of words rose to his tongue for this unkind silence, but then the wave of anger in him broke, and his head lolled forward with a shake. Without saying the word he dismissed Zevran with the wave of his hand and turned on his knees to get back to the satchel with the stolen cutlery. _  
_  
He picked up a silver spoon. Nothing he could do with it now, not before Sandal woke and prepared the material so it could be charged with weak but incredibly intricate anti-magic spells. This would not protect Zevran from the arcane, but it would do fine enough job neutralising Lea. In moments like these he felt that familiar pang of envy at mages whose powers were tailored for battle, who didn’t have to worry about their companions getting caught in a spell along with the enemies.  
  
 _Pecking order.  
  
What? _Lea’s left ear perked towards the sound. _  
  
What you had in your Circle was a pecking order,_ Zevran said, voice hoarse and low from his illness. _  
  
In a place where people have no power, just fear of someone else, the only way they could create an illusion of autonomy and safety is to torment someone they consider even lower than themselves. Happens everywhere._ He rolled on his back again, closing his eyes and putting his arms under his head. __  
  
Happened with the crows, Zevran continued.

_Free people like to romanticize the scenario: the oppressed and the broken banding together, seeking solace in each other under the boot of their oppressor, and the goodness of the heart and the united resilience will keep these poor people alive. Asinine things the ignorant say to make themselves feel better without breaking the convenient status quo.  
Us fledglings, we didn’t have magic. Well, most of us didn’t. We just had knives. You may be a wretch to the Talons, but in your closed little nest you’re still the meanest and most respected. A cruel way to feel like a person in a world that doesn’t treat you as one, but feeling like a person nonetheless._

  
  


Lea turned out slowly, corner of his mouth twitching, brows furrowed. _  
  
It’s not as simple,_ he said at last. _And it does not justify anything._  
  
It is not, and it doesn’t, no. But this is the world for you. You can either drown in that river, or become the riverbed and channel it wherever you want it to go. Now, come here and make up for your fearsome, dangerous spell you put on me. The last sentence out of the crow’s mouth bore a smile, and he motioned the Warden close with an irreverent gesture of his hand. Instead, he got hit in the chest with a poorly thrown spoon.

 _It’ll take more than that to knock me out,_ Zevran laughed. _Put me to sleep.  
  
What? _Lea turned on his knees.  
  
 _Sleep! The one you hit me with when we first met?  
  
Oh, the one that knocked you out cold? _Lea said. _The one that ended in you waking up with a headache of an age, bound, gagged and at my mercy? That one?_ Lea crawled closer to the elf.  
  
 _I’ll take that headache as well as your rope play over… this.._ He gestured vaguely at his bleary visage.   
  
The worm of guilt still gnawed its way through the Warden’s belly. He hadn’t seen the crow in the mess of the skirmish with the highwaymen. Should’ve been more careful. The prospect of using another spell on him after this, and after exposing him to his leeching ambient magic did not sit well with him.  
 _Have you slept at all?_ He finally asked.  
  
 _Nope,_ the crow answered. _That is why I’m asking.  
  
_ Lea frowned again. Could be that it was a way to make nice. If Zevran wants to get knocked out, that was  his prerogative, and his way of claiming damages. _  
  
Are you going to blame me if the spell doesn’t work as intended, too?_ The Warden asked and settled beside him. _  
  
Of course,_ the crow answered, laughed, and turned to his side, away from him, waiting for some relief at last. __  


  
  
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second time Zevran lets Lea know that while severe, his experiences aren't unique, and that instead of succumbing to the damages and letting the world play him as a pawn on the chessboard, he should find ways to manipulate the world in his favour. The only way to survive for people like them.


End file.
